A needle and thread
by EmpirePlanet95
Summary: The mansion had simply been one of the many shelters that housed him when he and his father had no where to go. An orphanage; a temporary haven; a vague two months of Will's childhood that was now nothing more than a left-behind memory. Years later, it's his home again, permanently this time. Not because he didn't want to leave. But because what he left behind won't let him. AU
1. Prologue

Based on the doujin by SeniorPotato under the same title! It's really good so I'd suggest reading the comic

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Will had been terrified the first time he cast eyes on the place. "An orphanage," his father had called it. A place for children who had no place to go went to.

_Why are we here then, dad? I've got you to go to, don't I?_

_…you won't leave me here, will you?_

His father had laughed at his fears, soothing him that no, he wasn't going to leave Will here. That it was only a temporary arrangement. Just as soon as he got a job, they'd find someplace nicer: a place to call home just for the two of them.

_Soon_, he promised.

But whether they'd leave sooner than later did nothing to quell the boy's fears. He could hear the laughter of witches in the creaking of the wood; the ghosts behind the gleam of the windows. Will didn't want to leave this place 'soon'. He didn't want to enter it at all.

_Don't worry, Will. Nothing bad is going to happen here._

And Will supposed, nothing bad did happen. He met a friend. Behind the wall where the whispers called to him, he met Hannibal. And for a good few months, he was happy.

But just as dad said, _it was only temporary._

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Will squeezed himself into the crawl hole, ignoring the dirt that stuck to his pants. He needed to hurry, dad would be looking for him soon. They were leaving. _Today. _That gave Will no time at all to say goodbye.

And he needed to say it, Hannibal wouldn't like it if he didn't. Well, Hannibal wouldn't be happy with him leaving at all but it was better than going without saying _anything._ Will couldn't stand imagining Hannibal waiting for him to visit, never knowing that Will wouldn't ever be coming again. It would be rude. And if their time together taught him anything, Will knew Hannibal didn't like rude people very much. Rude people were _bad._

The child burst through the other side of the tunnel to find his friend patiently wait for him. Calm and smiling as he always been. It was almost just like any other day Will would visit. They'd talk, have fun, do things together that always left Will red and laughing. Then they'd tell each other 'see you next time' - never goodbye.

But not this time. Will was leaving. He was here to say goodbye.

"Will?" Hannibal inquired against the boy's silence. "Will, you've been acting strange lately. Are you okay?" He smiled again when Will reached up towards him, tugging his arm and gesturing for Hannibal to lean down. A small kiss of greeting, right on his lips. A show of affection that Will's father had described as 'a token to give only to those you love the most.' However, Will pulled back much more quickly than usual, and Hannibal was silent, waiting for Will to act next.

"Bye bye," a murmur, almost silent on the boy's lip. Then he was gone. But his voice echoed in the darkness, vibrations shaking through Hannibal's being.

Bye Bye Bye By—

Bye Bye Bye

"Will?" Hannibal lunged towards the crawl space where Will's presence still warmed. "Will? Where are you going? Come back? Will?"

The shuffles of the boy were getting farther; more frantic with every drag of dirt against fabric. Faster. Will was trying to leave him faster. Hannibal could smell the child's fear - acrid and sour.

WILL? will? WILL?

WHY?

Why—

—are you scared?

CoME BaCk.

_(I won't hurt you.)_

COmE BACK.

NOW.

Come BAck hERe THiS InStaNT.

_(And I will forgive you.)_

Hannibal dove through the crawl space, following after the boy's scent through the dirt. William was just ahead of him, just a little more and he could reach him. He could feel the boy's heat just metres away.

_click._

A lock. The door was locked. William shut him in.

WiLLIam WhAT ArE You DOING?

OPEN THE DOOR.

There was a shuffle of movement from beyond the wood. _William? _The volume of steps softened until it was gone. _No._

DON'T.

WILLIAM.

DON'T.

GO.

"WILLIAM DON'T LEAVE ME!" A scream that shook the dust off the ceiling. A screech that no one but the two could hear.

Hannibal scratched at the door - desperately - the wood scoring under his claws. He scraped harder, trying to get through the accursed exit. But it would not collapse. It would not give. He smashed his fist against it. Again and again and again and again. Screaming for William, _don't leave me no no no no no noooo._ There was no answer to his screams.

But maybe William was still there, Hannibal thought. He extended his claws under the door space. Maybe he could touch him. His nails screeched against the polished wood. No William. He was -

-_gone._

Left him. Broke the promise that'd they be together. Forever and ever and ever.

No. It CAN'T Be.

"Will?" A final inquiry. A hope, that even out of his reach, William would hear. He'd turn back and open the door again and Hannibal would grab the boy and never let go. No one would take his William away from him. Because Will was his.

HIS. HANNIBAL'S.

Will knew that. Will was a good boy.

That's why he'd come back. He'd stay with Hannibal.

Hannibal scratched and clawed at the door.

William never opened it.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Hey there, Will? Are you ready to go?"

William clung to his father's leg, clutching the fabric like a lifeline. He felt himself lifted up as the adult's face regarded him with concern. Tears were streaming down the boy's face as Hannibal's shouts and screams still echoed in his ears.

"C'mere, little man. Why are you crying?"

The child sniffled, his grip on his father's collar tightening. "Do we have to go dad?" A final ditch attempt to change his dad's mind. So that maybe, maybe, just maybe he could go back to Hannibal.

"I got a job in another town, so we have to…"

Will nodded, wiping his tears in his dad's shirt. "Ok," he murmurs. A defeated tone.

The boy snuggled closer to the adult's body, taking in the warmth and trying to put Hannibal's anger and despair away from his mind. "How did your friend take the news - the one in the wall?"

"I think he hates me," Will confides, voice soft as if saying it any louder would make the reality of it that much closer.

"Aw, don't say that sport. You're too cute to hate," is his father's joking response. It's a joke that only has Will sniffling harder. "Don't worry, Will. He'll forgive you for leaving. Maybe one day you'll see him again."

Will snuggles even closer, throwing his arms around the whole of the man's neck to keep himself steady as they left. He took a last glance at the house, its creaks and shadows still as foreboding as it was two months prior. Will ends the conversation with three words as his father's feet leave the property.

"I hope so," he whispers.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Critiques on writing are loved!


	2. Welcome Home

_A.N: Do I need to warn you guys that most of this chapter is interaction between Will and Alana? Not romantic, don't worry, but still, yeah, warning. They're friends._

_-0-0-0-0-0-_

Will was eleven years old when his school teacher had first recommended he see a psychiatrist. He was...incapable of integrating with the group, they had told his father. The way he spoke, thought, carried himself: it was too different.

_Too wrong._

His father had spent the next day searching psychiatrists in the area that they could afford. Then, when there was none, he brought Will to the library. The entirety of the opening hours was spent with him on the opposite side of the children's section; Will with his books, and his father with own. After that, they had more 'talks' after dinner, though looking back, it was more verbal flailing than anything else. It ended with Will's dad finding higher paying job on the other side of the country that took night shifts; Will moved schools and they stopped talking.

There wasn't anymore time for 'family' anymore.

Those moments though may have been the reason Will had decided to take psychology at college. If not for them, perhaps he'd never had taken an interest in criminal psychology. Thus, never receiving the teaching position in Quantico, never meeting Jack, never seeing those crime scenes-

-never _failing to save Abigail._

But he did. And now he was here: the middle of nowhere, standing in front of a house just short of falling apart. But this was the house he wanted.

Because once upon a time, William was happy here.

Long before he was able to comprehend that monsters lied in people and not under beds. Before his father's flaws became too much. Before his own had nearly broken him.

This place made his feel safe. _Sound._

It was like a little boat on the ocean where all the nightmares drowned in the water.

-0-0-0-0-0-

"Alana? Are you going to help me pack or not?" said Will, addressing the woman in the car as he lifted a box out the trunk. Alana had insisted on coming with him against all protests that _he was fine, he could do it on his own, he didn't need the company._

Honestly, the man wondered if the psychiatrist had chosen to come for his sake or her own: to sooth her concerns that Will didn't off himself the moment he was away from a professional eye. Still, the presence, despite him muttering the contrary, was appreciated. To have anything other than dead memories trailing behind and beside him was always welcome.

Alana huffed, carrying a box just past the threshold of the front door before dropping it atop another. She looked up, appraising the tall ceilings and spacious entry way. But, she wasn't smiling. Will wasn't expecting her too: she was against him buying the house anyways.

"Well," Alana sighed. "It's spacious, I'll give you that Will, but are you sure this is the right place for you? It's rather...dark."

Will let out a small scoff. He could tell that she was holding back, every word that she wanted to say was practically echoing from her and reverberating through the walls.

_Dismal. Sullen. Somber. Bleak._

_Just like him._

Alana's shoulders tensed, and she looked around with wide eyes. It wasps if she expected a monster to appear from behind the boxes. She stayed close to Will though, back slightly to him, as though, if a monster _were _to appear, she could protect him. Will knew she couldn't, she had tried, tried, and tried.

But he wouldn't have been here if she succeeded.

But still, this was the reason Will appreciated her presence the most. Her concern was honest, not like the other psychiatrists that he'd seen. The way _they _had looked at him with 'professional interest' as they poked, prodded and asked:

_How does that make you feel?_

"Honestly, Will. Don't you find it a little creepy?"

Will glanced back at the woman, dropping his own box with a huff. "Not really. My father and I lived here once, when we had no where to go. It's not a bad place."

"But it looks as though..." Alana looked around the room again. "Something from the walls will come out to get you."

"Why, thanks Alana," muttered Will, gruffly. "I'll keep that in mind when I try to sleep tonight."

"Sorry, Will," she replied. "It's just this place is...it's..." She swallowed. "Maybe we could get the realtor to find something else. It might not be too late."

Will turned to Alana with a tired breath. "Why Alana? Because a place like this is counterproductive to my health? Too gloomy to have your approval?" He slipped a box cutter out of his back pocket, slicing open the top of the box he'd just dropped. If he did it with more force than necessary, then Alana didn't mention it; his t-shirts inside were fine anyways.

Will glanced back at her, waiting for the answer. He was sure his intonation was high enough to be a question, even if it was more because of the tenseness in his throat than anything else. Will could feel Alana's pity, her fear _for _him, even without looking at her. As though living here, isolated like a lonely old hermit, was _bad._

"No, Will, that's not what I meant-"

"Then what, Alana?" he interjected. "It's an old house. Maybe there's asbestos in the walls, perhaps thats what your sixth sense is feeling; the poison seeping out of the drywall and wallpaper. If I get cancer ten years down the line, I'll make sure to let you know so you could tell me I told you so."

"Will, calm down. That's not what I-"

"Maybe it'll be better if I bunked with Jack, hm? He'd probably say yes, what with the convenience of having his greatest asset so close at hand. I'll be sure to bark for him whenever he beckons for me!" Will threw the cutter down, hearing the plastic clatter loudly. It felt good to let the frustration out for once. "Perhaps he'll even give me a _treat."_

"_Will!"_

Will breathed, flinching slightly as he registered Alana's closeness to him; her hand was on his shoulder. She was telling him _to calm down, take deep breaths, it's okay, it's okay, I'm sorry._

_I'm so sorry._

Who muttered the last part, he wondered.

"I'm fine," Will murmured. "I'm fine, I'm okay Alana; let's just get these boxes in before dark."

Alana stepped away from him, no longer able to look him in the eye. "It's just that..with everything that happened_._ I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I said _I'm fine, _Alana." insisted Will. He turned away from her, about to head out the door again for another box. But of course, psychiatrists always had to have the last word.

"It wasn't your fault, Will." Alana declared. "There was nothing you could have done to save that girl.._.Abigail_. You couldn't have known that that would happen. "

_But I did, _Will wanted to confess. _I knew. Suspected._

He grit his teeth, and walked forward. Every blink at the sun dyed his eyelids red. "So what, Alana? I can't work for the FBI. My mind's blinded; it can't take looking anymore."

His mind had shattered. Weakened. It could no longer take how every crime scene he saw that revealed to him how the victim begged its killer to spare them gave him Abigail.

Gave him the image of how Abigail had-

-_looked at him._

_Begged to him._

_Cried for him as her words bled out on the ground._

_Mocked him with the red smile on her neck._

He grit his teeth, stomping towards his car and digging into it for another box. Alana paralleled his actions, following him back into the house with her own box.

"But, Will," she whispered. "Why move all the way here? Away from everything and everyone? The nearest town is hours away."

"I need a fresh start, Alana," responded Will, stepping through the door. "The dead won't follow me inside here."

Alana's nodded, her expression down trodden and chastised. It makes Will feel guilty; as if _he_ was the criminal, the one wrong in telling her how he'd felt. Will turned away.

"And if I didn't move, Jack wouldn't stop bugging me with his cases."

Alana chuckled nervously with a murmured, "you have a point."

Will considered the chuckle a small victory. The atmosphere had brightened considerably and he could _breath._

Alana bent over to drop her box down beside William's lightly.

"Well, that's the last box," observed Alana. She stood up to look at William.

"Call me, if you need anything. I'll come right over." She laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere of goodbye. "Even if you do live in a creepy house hours away."

Will waved her away. "It's late Alana, I'm fine so just go home. "

"Goodbye, Will."

The door shut softly, leaving Will alone in the entryway surrounded by boxes. A small patter of feet signalled the entrance of Winston; the dog immediately made himself underfoot and snuffed at his owner.

"Hey, Winston," Will greeted. "Done exploring? How was it? Nice?"

The dog barked and Will laughed. "Well, you're right, buddy. It's certainly big enough."

His gaze found the hallway to the main rooms of the house. "This used to be an orphanage, though it doesn't really looked like it's for kids," mused Will. He looked down at Winston. "Wanna be my tour guide, Winston?"

The dog barked again and Will smiled. "Thanks, boy,"

Will walked down the hall, appreciating the mix of colour as Winston followed at his was a mix of red, brown, and off-white, exuding a sense of warmth and coolness: of home. At the sight kitchen he guessed the place had been renovated recently - the woodstain being free of markings and scuffs. As well, the utilities seemed modern enough taking into account how old the house was. The bedroom already had a bed, though the sheets smelled a little dated: a quick change would be easy enough.

"Everything looks different now," Will told Winston. "I don't recognize anything anymore..."

Winston petted himself under Will's hand, freezing and whining when they came across the living room. It was grand space, the architecture hinting that perhaps it was once a small ball room or agrand sitting room. Both the carpet and wallpaper were slightly off-colour with the drywall framing.

Perhaps, Will thought, it was placed down against the original floor plans. Maybe the orphanage changed it to be more suitable for kids. William recognized it. He used to play here, drawing pictures on the floor, reading on the couch and hiding behind it.

"At least this looks familiar," he told himself in relief. "It's good to see it hasn't change much..."

With this, it finally felt like home.

Winston bumped his nose against William's palm, the volume of his whining getting louder as they approached the living room.

"Hey, bud, what's wrong?" asked William offhandedly as he spotted a small door off on the bottom of a side wall. It almost looked like a cupboard, and Will would probably have believed it was if not for it's odd location. If it really was a sitting room, then it would have been unsightly: unsuitable and out of place. Smack in the middle of where guests could easily see it.

William approached it. Winston whined.

"I think I remember this." William blinked, running a hand against the old wood. Even though he majority of the paint had flaked off, there was enough to know that the colour had been the opposite of every door in the house: black. A splinter came off on his finger and Will's flinched, rubbing the wood away on his jeans.

"Yeah," he confirmed softly after a short search of his distant memories. "I used to play here."

He stood up, not bothering to brush the dust off his jeans as he looked around the room again. If he remembered correctly, he'd left a box of keys by the door. The man turned back to see if it was indeed there, noting that his dog was pawing against the carpet just an inch away from the door's threshold.

"Winston?"

The dog barked, high and afraid. He pawed the carpet harder, as if trying to gesture Will to his side of the door.

"Oh, you don't like the room? Does it smell too dusty?"

Will gave the air a sniff. It seemed fine, but for a dog...

"I'll be over there in a bit. Just give me a second," he told Winston. He carried a small cardboard giftbox away from the exit, staggering a bit from the surprising weight before heading back to the small door. There was a bit of water stain at the bottom, and it sagged deeply.

"Let's see what's behind door number one..." joked Will with himself, prying open the lid of the box. The cardboard folded backwards as it came off.

"What the hell?"

The box was piled to the brim with keys, both old and new with a mix of bronze, silver, and gold. That explained the weight, but still; there was an inch and a half between the top of the pile to the bottom. It was a surprise the box hadn't broken.

William cursed, wondering why there were so many. The number of doors in the house didn't match, even if he counted the cupboards. And not all of them had locks.

William looked back at the door, inspecting the handle. It was a little rusted, the metal clouded and dark with dust, dirt and age; he could barely tell if it was gold or , if the key matched as it should, then he could diminish how many he needed to try. He dumped the box onto the ground, separating the new ones from the old, the silver from the bronze and gold.

There were seven choices left by the end. Will tried the first.

It didn't work.

The second.

A failure.

The third.

Another defeat.

The fourth.

Will stared at the key in his hand, finding it slightly heavier than the others. It was more dated too. He brushed a bit of grime off of the key, wondering at the tiny feeling of nostalgia at the back of his mind when he looked at it.

He gave it a try.

_Click._

The door creaked open, the hinges so rusted shut that Will had to pry it open bit by bit. He grunted as he pulled it away from the wall, incapable of keeping away a bit of excitement.

_What was behind the door?_

He almost joked that perhaps he'd find Narnia, but of course, that was ridiculous. He was Will Graham, and Will Graham never found happiness in the form of fantasies and distant lands. Because that was simply how his life worked.

All he had was nightmares. Nightmares and-

-nothing.

A brick wall.

Will let his fingers fall off the door knob, breathing out in disappointment.

Of course there'd be nothing.

He ran his fingers along the cement between the brick; dust sprinkled off. "I could have sworn that there was something here..."

_A dark tunnel._

_A smiling face._

_An outreached hand._

"Maybe they blocked it off?" Will let out another sigh, closing the door and leaving in the key. He hefted himself up, returning to where Winston was - still in the hallway, looking in. The dog had laid himself down, watching William with trepidation. He had jumped up excitedly though when his master approached.

"Hey, boy, time to go." Will petted the dog, his fingers getting licked in the process. "Almost time for bed..."

Will returned to the hallway and into the front entranceway to dig into some boxes. He lugged out a can of dogfood and a bowl, putting it down for Winston. For himself, he found a can of tuna and a fork; Will sat himself down by the wall and ate his menial dinner, it wasn't much, but for now it was all his stomach could handle.

If things went as planned, maybe in a week, he'd be better. Maybe then, he'd be able to sit at a table and eat without thinking about how Garett Jacob Hobbs had eaten those girls.

Devoured them

_Honoured _them.

With Abigail smiling across from him.

None the wiser.

Innocent, sweet Abigail. Bloody, dead Abigail.

Will tasted bile at the back of his throat. The tuna, juicy and meaty in the can almost seemed red in the dim light. He put the can down.

There was still half left.

But that was okay: Winston must be hungry from the move. A treat wouldn't hurt. He pushed the can towards the dog, his head flopping to his shoulder as he watched Winston pounce without hesitation at the proffered meal.

"Maybe, if I just go to bed..." Will murmured, resting his head against the drywall. He was exhausted. Completely and utterly drained.

The man closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the house settling, of it rattling in the wind.

_Wehhh..._

…_...ehhh..lll..._

_haaaaa...Aah..._

_eeeeeeehhhhmm..._

The sound would have lulled him to sleep if not for Winston licking his palm for more tuna. Will chuckled lightly, getting up to throw the can away.

He missed the house's last echo.

_Will...?_

…_..WiLLiam?_

_You're HERE...?_

…_...You're BACK?_

.

.

.

.

_(WeLCOmE HOmE)_

_A.N: Hey guys, it's been a long time. I haven't been writing for a while except for school papers (I wrote one on Cannibalism and got an A- yaaayyy) so I hope it's not to rusty; it it is, I'm sorry. Feel free to leave writing critiques on grammar, characterization (I haven't watched Hannibal for a long time, so please please please tell me if they're OOC, I'm so out of touch! At least until third season lol) and anything that bothers you, I'll do my best to respond to all comments! And I actually can, cause after Tuesday next week I'm on holiday for like two weeks before spring sem classes. I went on dA after like forever and found out there's like a whole bunch of updates for the dj by SeniorPotato, so I'll be able to update the next bit easily. So SeniorPotato. Check her/his (don't wanna make assumptions here) comic out._

_Sorry if this chapter is a bit more slow moving, with lack of Hannigram. It won't be for long though._


	3. Morning light

On some nights, Will Graham prayed.

It wasn't as though he was religious; he wasn't. But a person didn't really need to be to recite a simple four lines in solemn request. Plus to him, it was more a ritual born of habit than anything else.

He was thirteen when he first learned to pray. A nun from what his father called an 'overnight drop-in centre' taught him.

It was a nice place. Even if he found out that most people in school called it a 'homeless shelter.'

People were kind to him there. Understanding. They didn't judge him nor his father when they find out about the pair's bi-monthly, state-jumping life style. They didn't try to take Will away even when they discovered that his dad couldn't even afford the lowest motel rate in Louisiana. Instead, the nun had smiled and patted his head; she tucked him in, and taught him words that were meant to protect him so that his father would have a 'home to return to.'

Even after his father's death, Will still murmured the same four lines as he closed his eyes for bed. Because by then, it was the only sense of stability he had left.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Will stared past his reflection in the mirror, mindlessly scrubbing his teeth. He blinked. The greying visage of Garett Jacob Hobbs regarded him carefully, his head tilted to the side as he looked through the mirror with milky eyes. He smiled, his teeth stained red and brown with stagnant blood.

Will blinked again.

Elliot Buddish with his lungs spread out like wings behind him stared back.

Again.

Eldon Stammets._ Blink._ Tobias Budge. _Blink_. Clark Ingram.

William spat out the tooth paste, staring diligently at the porcelain sink as he grappled for his cup. White foam drained slowly, spreading specks of red into lines from when he'd brushed his gums too hard. He rinsed out his mouth and looked up.

Abigail smiled at him.

He rinsed out his mouth again, just to remove the bitter taste of bile from his throat. And again, when the acid burn stubbornly refused to disappear. Winston whined from underfoot.

"I'm fine, Winston," Will muttered, giving the dog's head a pat as he threw his toothbrush into his cup. "It's just the usual. You know how it is." He stepped past his pet, making his way to the bed.

The newly changed white sheets were tucked tightly into the mattress – any looser and Will knew they would come undone after a night of thrashing.

"Winston, c'mon, bed-time." Will ushered the dog to the bed with no qualms of the pet hair already attaching themselves to the fabric. Winston immediately made himself comfortable at the foot of the bed, curling up and waiting for his master to do the same. Will did, giving the dog one last pat on the head before he slipped under the safety of white sheets.

Once, Alana had recommended that perhaps, he should buy black ones – just for the sake of them being easier to clean. Vomit and sweat didn't stain as easy on black. He'd considered it. But that was all he did. He'd imagined cocooning himself into darkness – the same gloom that he entered in his sleep.

The thought was inconsolable.

Thus, Will positioned his head on a scratchy, feather filled pillow. He closed his eyes and, under his breath, muttered four lines long taught to him:

"Now I lay me down to sleep -"

Will sighed, adjusting his feet under the comforter. He knew it might be easier if he prayed in the conventional way at the end of the bed. But, it didn't really matter to him. And he was tired.

Still, Winston whined his discontent at being prodded by his owner's feet.

"-I pray the Lord my soul to keep-"

Will turned to his side, trying to find a comfortable position.

He could already feel the words lulling him to sleep. The words never changed, no matter who died, or who was born: they were the archetype of stability.

Will shrugged his shoulders, bringing the sheets closer to his chin.

"-the angels watch me through the night-"

The darkness crept out from the back of Will's mind.

"-and keep me safe til morning light."

And he slept.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Will woke up disoriented. The light from the window was blinding, painting the entirety of the room monochrome white. He blinked the sleep away, looking around; the air was frozen. Nothing moved.

Winston was still sleeping at the foot of the bed, his fur still and pointed. Will reached for his dog with small hands, wondering why Winston was farther away than he last remembered.

"Winston?" said Will. "Wake up."

The dog didn't stir.

"Winston?" Will repeated. "Wake up."

Winston didn't wake.

"C'mon. Hannibal's gonna be mad if we're late for breakfast."

Will nudged Winston again. "I'm gonna leave if you don't wake up."

The dog didn't even breath. So, Will kicked out of the blankets, crawling to the edge of the bed just to climb off. He trotted to the bathroom, pushing the step stool next to the sink so he could reach the counter. He splashed water on his face, rubbing at the smooth skin around his chin and eyes. Next, Will grabbed his toothbrush, scrubbing at his teeth. He looked up at the mirror.

There was no reflection. Just the whiteness of the painted door and drywall behind him. But that didn't really matter. First priority was to get clean.

Cause a dirty guest at the breakfast table was just as rude as an absent one.

Hannibal told him. Hannibal was his best friend. Hannibal knew best.

Will jumped down from the step stool, walking through the still blinding white landscape of the bedroom.

"Winston," he said. "I'm gonna wake dad up now. They're not gonna leave out kibble if you don't come out."

Will exited. There was no click of nails following behind. "Winston!"

Not even a ruffle of fur.

"Hannibal's gonna get mad," Will muttered from the door. He turned into the hallway. It stretched out like a highway: long, narrow, and boxed in by smooth, blank white walls. There was a small, black door to the right, just a minutes pace away. Its bronze door knob gleamed even from the distance.

Will padded over to it. He knocked. "Dad? Breakfast time."

No one opened the door.

"Is _everyone _still sleeping?" Will murmured to himself, exasperated. "Hannibal's gonna be _really_ mad."

He glanced up at the clock that appeared above the doorway. 7:26. Twenty-six minutes late.

_"_Hannibal's gonna be _really really _mad."

Will turned the knob to his dad's bedroom. "I'm coming in dad," he announced, just to be polite. The door swung open and Will entered. It was empty but for a single, queen sized bed marring the pure, detail-less space. The bed was built with a black wooden frame, polished and smooth – identical to door. Its corner posts stood tall, sharp and pointed. However, Will's attention was drawn to the stag's head carved into the headboard. Glossy black eyes greeted him.

Look, they whispered. _Look._

The stag's horns extended the surface of the bed, curving downward and almost encapsulating a still figure draped by crisp, white sheets. The sheets were loose, spilling over the sides of the bed. An image of a small, stainless steel table paired with the putrid scent of iron, latex, and antiseptic appeared in Will's mind. It was gone before he could begin to wonder. So instead, he approached the bed.

Long brown hair escaped from the top of the sheets, strewn out as if on water. Will guessed from that, and the curvature of the body, that it was a girl. She must be sleeping, he thought.

"Excuse me, miss?" Will addressed. "Have you seen my dad? He's late for breakfast."

The still figure did not respond. So Will stepped closer.

"Miss? Are you awake?"

He stopped at the side of the bed. The sheet was tucked up high over the girl's forehead. Will peeled it down, tucking it lightly under the girl's chin. Her eyes were closed, skin pale and bloodless.

"Miss? Sorry to bother you, but have you seen my dad?" Will asked again.

The girl blinked up at him, her blue eyes stark against sallow skin and deep brown hair. She stared.

"You can join us for breakfast, if you want," Will offered. "I don't think Hannibal would mind."

"It's too late," the girl whispered, her voice a low, gritty rasp. Will wondered if she was sick. Maybe, that's why his dad lent her his bed.

"Too late?" Will tilted his head, a moment of understanding coming over him. Well, he thought, they _were _half an hour late for breakfast. So Hannibal would have finished cooking by now: a portion of three for Will, dad, and him. But then, Hannibal always made extra. 'Cause Will was a growing boy, so he needed to eat more. More meat, Hannibal said. So it wouldn't be a problem if there was one more person. Will told her so.

The girl blinked at him again. Then she sat up, the sheets falling from her form. A simple, tawny-brown colored shirt paired with black denim.

Will frowned, noticing that the girl had gone to bed without changing into nightclothes. Hannibal always told him he shouldn't do that. The boy almost mentioned it to his guest, but he froze when he saw the girl's expression.

Her mouth was downturned, yet she smiled from the red line on her neck.

"You came in too late. _Too late, too late, too late."_

Her body rose from the bed in a single swift motion; she edged closer to the boy. Smiling, still smiling, always smiling.

Will gasped, taking a step back. Blood seeped from the wound on the girl's neck, staining the sheets crimson. It dripped down to the floor, the colour staining and spreading like a disease. Every step away brought the scarlet blight closer; it encroached everything, veinlike.

The girl loomed over Will. Her shadow spread through the room, dying the entire landscape black.

Even the blood. Especially, the blood.

You could have saved me," she whispered, sticky black-stained saliva burbling at the corner of her lips. _"You didn't. Too late. Always too late."_

Will whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be. Winston wouldn't wake up! I told him we'd be late."

The excuse sounded wrong to his ears. He stumbled away, backwards.

Blood pooled around Will's feet. It seeped into his socks and every backward step he took came away sticky with thick black tar. His feet were numb with weight. He could feel the girl's closeness but there was no heat. _She was so cold. _

"Why?" she asked him, her voice cracking, desperate for answers. It hurt Will's ears to hear. And her breath was sour: acrid and dead.

So he shut his eyes tightly, turning his face away and clasping his hands over his ears. But the whispers echoed louder.

_Why didn't you come sooner?_

_Why didn't you see?_

_Why didn't you save me?_

_Why? Why?_

_Why __WHY_ _why __WHY __why?_

_WHY?_

Will shook his head violently, the words vibrating through his head despite his best efforts to shut them away.

"I don't know!" he shouted, his voice just a tone below a scream. "I don't know. I'm sorry. _I'M SORRY_!"

_Liar._

The girl tilted his head at him. Looked at him. Sneered at him_. Mocking, judging –_

_Accusing._

Will turned, his arms falling from his ears as he ran for the door. There was only darkness in his line of sight, but he kept running.

_Liar._

And running.

_LIAR._

Faster.

Into darkness. Cold, insidious, darkness.

_(My poor, sweet, William)_

He fell.

He was caught.

By shadows.

_(I have you.)_

William whimpered, shaking in the grip of shadows. It enfolded him, embraced him as it crept across his skin and into his pores. He couldn't move. He couldn't breath.

Hot breath on his ear. Cold fingers trailing along cheeks.

_(How lost you've become without me.)_

The shadow nosed at his neck, breathing in William's scent as it squeezed him tighter. William was sinking. Drowning. He sobbed. He wanted to scream. _Stop it stop it stop it let me go._

_(Don't worry.)_

Will struggled, but every move spread the gloom around him. He couldn't even see his hands reaching out anymore.

_(I'm here now.)_

The dark oozed into his nose, his mouth, his gripped his heart.

_(And I won't let you go.)_

_-0-0-0-0-0-_

Will woke up disoriented. Black spotted his vision and he couldn't see the light from the window, if there was any at all. The sheets stuck to his skin, wet and cold.

_(I'll take care of you now, William)_

Will vomited bile and stomach acid onto the empty side of the bed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, cringing as he stared at the mess by his side. At least, he thought, it was easier to clean than the carpet.

From the foot of the bed, Winston barked.

Will stood up from the bed, dragging himself into the bathroom. In the mirror, the eyes of his reflection stared back at him, red and swollen. His beard couldn't even hide how sunken his cheeks had become.

_Why? _his reflection asked. _Why?_

Will splashed water on his face, unable to answer. He didn't know. There were too many endings to that question. Too many answers.

Will let the water drip off his face. The cold felt good despite the sweat chills that racked his body. He let out a sigh of relief, rubbing his temple in an attempt to keep the head aches away

_(Poor, pitiful boy. Let me help you)_

He closed his eyes, shuddering as the memories of his nightmare came back to him.

The stillness. The darkness. Abigail. _Hannibal._

Will grimaced, pain stabbing at his temple. One thing, he was missing one thing. Will squeezed his eyes as he tried to remember.

_Hannib..._

He cradled his head; the pain throbbed.

_Hann..._

His headache intensified and Will flinched.

_H... a..._

.

.

.

Will shook his head, groaning when it only exacerbated the pain. He stepped back into the bedroom, in search for the bottle of aspirin he'd kept in yesterday's jeans. The thought of the dream was shoved to the back of his mind; there was no point in digging through nightmares when he already had enough on the surface.

"Winston, wake up," he said, peeking at the dog who'd gone back to sleep in the five minutes he'd spent in the bathroom. He went to check on his phone by the bedside table. 7:31. "It's breakfast time."

Will nudged the dog off the bed, ushering him towards the exit. He glanced at the window as he left through the door.

Morning light bled through the curtains.

A.N_:_

Wow. Everyone seems to have relocated to A03, yeah? Well, anyways, author's note:

_ Thanks for reading! And no, Will can't hear Hannibal when he's awake. _

_Well, a lot of people mentioned how this fic is giving out Coraline vibes, righty-o, SeniorPotato's doujinshi on DA is a Coraline cross-over so as yeah, as __'ll always say, go check that out!_

_For the prayer thing, hopefully my use of it didn't offend anyone. But, to be on the safe side, I apologize if it did. If you were confused about the wording, there's actually a lot of versions of the prayer; I chose the one that suited the fic's purposes most._  
_But yeah, what do you guys think about my attempt at writing almost horror stuff? Nay or Yay? 'Cause my experience in it is basically reading Silence of the Lambs and Coraline. Like, was there too much detail? Not enough? Any grammar mistakes? Be honest, please?_

_Btw, did anyone notice the significance of the time in the fic? (Hint: considering that Will was eight years old when he first met/left Hannibal) Kudos if you did!_  
_One last thing lol, on the next update: I'm taking a spring class starting next week, so updates might be a little slower when that starts. But I'll still write during the classes! Plus It's a six-week class then vacation time so I promise that I won't disappear for like five months as I did between chapter one and two._


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